Authors: Dara Girard
“He’s a Randolph first.”
“No harm in reminding him of that every once in a while.” He poured himself a drink. “I wonder what this woman is like.”
“I’m sure she’s fine.”
“Do you?” He looked at her. Really looked at her. He hadn’t done so in so many years he was surprised to see how much older she looked. The fine lines of her brown skin, thinning gray hair expertly curled, even the gaze looked older. He didn’t usually feel the years creeping up on him; he only felt them when looking at those around him like his wife, his sons and grandchildren. They reflected that time was running out for him. He had to make sure things went smoothly in his absence. That his bloodline and all he’d built continued to live on. He turned away from his wife’s simple face. “Yes, you would.” However, he wasn’t so sure. The banquet would prove to be interesting.
***
Brenna stared at the woman in front of her with a sense of hopelessness she hadn’t felt in years. Helen Voltanz had wide gray eyes that could be considered attractive if the look of desperation had been replaced by a more serene expression. Nervous fingers tugged on the strap of her handbag. She seemed harmless, except she was so desperate to get married and start a family that she terrified every single man who crossed her path. Unfortunately, Margaret O’Hanson, Brenna’s on-call dating consultant, had pegged Helen as a lost cause and refused to do anymore sessions with her.
“Just give me another chance,” Helen begged. “I know where I went wrong. I’m thirty-two years old. You’re my last hope. My fertile years are whittling away. I’ve already passed twenty-five, which is a woman’s peak fertile years and now my eggs are shriveling up and most of the men my age are dating younger women and—”
“That’s the attitude that is getting you into trouble,” Brenna cut in. “You want to get married
now
. So you’re ready to marry the first guy that looks at you. That’s not healthy. I’m thirty and feel there’s time.”
“But you’re different.”
Brenna let the comment pass. She clasped her hands together and rested them on the table. “If you want a baby there are many ways—”
“No,” she said firmly. “I want to get married.”
“Marriage is a partnership. You’re thinking about all that you want, but what do you have to offer?”
“I’ll be a wonderful mother.”
“How about a wife?”
Helen nodded quickly. “Yes, that too.”
Brenna bit back a groan. She wasn’t sure of that anymore. “I don’t think I’m the right agency for you.”
“Oh, but you are. I didn’t mean what I said about you being different.”
“Listen, Helen, it’s nothing personal, I assure you. I just think you deserve a service that will address your needs. Think about it. There is certainly an agency out there that can help you and will see you go down the aisle in no time.” Brenna doubted it, but wanted to offer her hope. “I’ll see where I can refer you.”
“Thank you.” Helen jumped to her feet and shook her hand. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
Brenna smiled, relieved the meeting was over. She discreetly pulled her hand away flexing the fingers that had been enthusiastically crushed. “Yes, you’re welcome.”
Once Helen left, Pauline entered the room. “Did you drop her?”
“I don’t drop clients. I end consultation.”
Pauline wasn’t in the mood to worry about semantics. “Did you drop her?”
Brenna picked up a pen. “Yes.”
“She’ll go to your competition.”
Brenna bit the end. “I know. I plan to recommend her.”
“Why?”
“I had to think of a way to let her down gently. I’ll recommend her with reservation.”
“The owner of Perfect Match is getting married.”
Brenna set her pen down Perfect Match was one of her main competitors. “I know.”
“Clients may start wondering why you aren’t married.”
“Clients worry about their own social lives not mine.”
Pauline went back to the front desk. Brenna cleared up her desk ready to leave. The buzzer rang. “Yes?”
“You’re 5:59 appointment is here,” Pauline said resigned.
Brenna glanced at her calendar confused. “My what?”
The door swung open; Hunter appeared in the doorway. Her spirits fell as her heart accelerated. He was still gorgeous. She had hoped she’d imagined it.
He held up a flyer. “I didn’t know you were sponsoring a Spring Single’s Party. Why didn’t you tell me about this?”
She tapped her finger against the desk. “Are you extremely slow-witted or do you just enjoy being insulted?”
Unperturbed, Hunter folded the flyer and tucked it inside his jacket. “Are you ready for dinner?”
“I told you I am not going out with you.”
Hunter nodded. “Yes, I remember you mentioned that.” He rested a hand on his chest. “And since I am a considerate person, I decided that we’ll eat in.” He stepped into her office and opened the door wider. Two waiters dressed in black tuxedos entered, respectively pulling and pushing a table draped in a royal blue tablecloth with red and golden candles sitting among two covered plates, a basket of wheat rolls, and chilled lemonade.
Hunter said a few words to the waiters before they left. He turned, his eyes clung to hers. “I forgot to say hi.”
“Hi.” She cleared her throat annoyed with how breathy she sounded. “This is ridiculous.”
He shut the door and closed the blinds. “No, it’s not.” He glanced around the room. “Where’s the puppy?”
“He’s not mine. I was only looking after him for a short while.”
“Oh,” Hunter said sounding a little disappointed. “I got this for him.” He set a chew toy on her desk. “Would you like a puppy?”
“No,” she said quickly in case he got any ideas.
“Okay.” He took out a lighter and lit the candles. Then he turned off the lights letting the flames cast shadows on the walls. “Won’t you come and join me?”
“I don’t work after hours.”
“This is called eating.” He held out his hand. “Want me to show you how?”
“I know how to eat.”
His hand remained stretched out to her. “Good.”
Brenna was hungry, but was trying to think of the best way to reach the table without him seeing her walk. It would be awkward otherwise since she wasn’t the woman he thought she was. “I’m a little chilly. Could you get my sweater, please? It’s in the hall closet.”
“I’ll loan you my jacket.”
He
would
be chivalrous. “I’d prefer my sweater.”
“This is better.”
“Here.” He draped the jacket around her shoulders. It encompassed her in its warmth and musky scent. “There. Now come on.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. She landed on her bad leg and stumbled into him.
He looked down at her concerned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pull you so hard.”
“It’s not you, it’s me. I have a bad leg.” She glanced at her cane hidden under the desk. “I use that to walk.”
“Oh. Good.” He grabbed her chair then set it at the table.
She stared at him. “Good?”
“Yes, I’m glad I didn’t hurt you. Now come on. I’m hungry.”
Brenna only stood there. Good. That was it? No, ‘I’m sorry’, or other such platitude? No pity, no sadness, no disgust? He didn’t care? Her relief nearly made her laugh. Instead she grabbed her cane and folder then sat at the table.
Hunter lifted the covers off the plates and revealed grilled chicken, seasoned basmati rice, tomato and feta salad.
He poured the lemonade as she bit into the chicken. Outside they heard cars passing by and the quick pattering of footsteps as people headed home.
Brenna searched her thoughts for something to say, but her mind seemed to be experiencing sensory overload. A room usually familiar to her now seemed strange, smaller more intimate, tinged with the scent of cologne and brushed cotton mingling with the taste of spices.
She watched Hunter bring his glass to his lips. They really were incongruous with the rest of him. They should have been stern not so sensual.
“I do find you handsome,” she said.
He choked and began to cough.
“Are you all right?”
He set the glass down. “I’m fine.”
“Is that how you accept a compliment?”
Hunter sent her a playful glare. “You surprised me.”
“I thought you’d be used to them.” Brenna began to grin. “There’s so much to compliment. Your eyes, your body, your mind.”
He leaned forward the flickering candlelight dancing in his dark eyes. “Thank you.”
Her gaze fell. “This meal is delicious.”
“Brenna—”
“I’ve found her.”
He hesitated. “Who?”
“Your fake fiancée. It wasn’t very nice of you not to come by the other day.”
“I was hoping that absence would make your heart grow fonder.”
“It didn’t. It only annoyed me.” She opened her folder and handed him a picture. “She’s attractive, educated, works in advertising, volunteers with numerous organizations, has never married but hopes to.”
Hunter glanced at the picture then set it aside. “I’m not interested she—” He stopped then stared at the picture again. Brenna wasn’t surprised. Sara always warranted a second glance, especially from men.
“I know her,” he said.
“Oh, then this should be easy.”
He looked at her horrified. “Are you kidding? I’d never go out with her again. I admit she’s attractive both in real life and on paper, but she needs a caution sticker: Men Beware.”
“She’s very sweet.”
“Saccharine. Took me two months to break up with her.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. Do you know how hard it is to break up with someone because they’re too sweet?”
Brenna opened her folder pleased she’d come up with a plan B. “Then there’s Carlotta Willington. She’s—”
He shook his head. “Completely unsuitable.”
“Why?”
“Too flighty. She has absolutely no common sense to keep her grounded.”
“Barbara Jason—”
He shook his head. “Her name should be Barbiturate.”
Brenna closed her folder and glared at him. “Is there a woman in this city you haven’t gone out with?”
“Yes. You.”
Brenna cut into her chicken with a short, determined motion. “I’m not going.” She chewed a moment then pointed a finger at him. “I’ve got the perfect woman.”
“Is she medium height, brown hair, wearing a nondescript jacket?”
She frowned. “Yes. How did you know?”
“The wicked grin pulling on the corner of your mouth alerted me that you wanted to dump one of your rejects.”
“Helen is not a reject.”
“Helen.” He nodded. “So the creature has a name.”
“First, Helen is not a creature and second how do you know her?”
“I met a woman who was leaving the building. She looked at me well...let’s just say a man usually gets such open invitations on street corners.”
“Do you frequent street corners?”
“I don’t have to.”
Brenna glanced at the ceiling. Poor Helen couldn’t even get a desperate man like Hunter interested.
Hunter was quiet a moment. “What kind of man are you looking for?”
“None of your business.”
“I bet you have a list hidden somewhere.”
Brenna felt her cheeks getting hot, but managed to keep her features neutral. “No, I don’t.”
He tapped the side of his head. “All up here I suppose.”
She scooped her rice.
“He’ll have to be in good shape.”
“Who?”
“Your perfect match. Since you won’t tell me your type, I’m forced to guess.” He tapped his finger against the table. “He can’t be too tall. You’d like to be able to look him in the eye. Equality is very important to you. He must have nice teeth because smiles are essential. He must think with his heart, not his head.” He sipped his drink. “An artistic type, perhaps, with or without money and have lots of charm.”
“I don’t go for artistic types. He doesn’t need to make as much as I do, but I would like him to have a steady income.”
“And he must be kind, handsome and love your mother.”
“No.”
“No? You don’t want a kind—”
“I want the first two, but he doesn’t have to love my mother. I love her dearly, but she’d drive any man insane.”
“There’s no father in the picture?”
“He left for other reasons, but her habit of driving men batty may have been one of them.” Brenna concentrated on her food, feeling his eyes on her. “Stop that.”
He glanced away. “I can’t do anything about my height, however I do have a stable job, I am in line for a promotion, and I’m handsome, charming and kind. I think I’ll do.”
She pointed her fork at him. “You forgot something.”
“What?”
“I haven’t seen you smile yet.”
To her surprise he looked embarrassed. “I’m afraid that’s not my strong point.”
“Are you missing teeth?”
“No. It just doesn’t suit me.”
“Your smile doesn’t suit you?”
“That’s right.”
“That’s not possible. Everyone’s smile suits them in some way.”
He shook his head. “Okay, so there are two strikes against me, but I make up for them by getting along with parents, especially mothers. They love me.”
“You have to...” She stopped and fell forward. “What did you say?”
He began to repeat himself. “Okay, so there are two strikes—”
She waved her fork. “No, no about mothers.”
“They love me.”
She stared at him as a devious idea formed in her mind. She quickly shook her head. “No, I couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t what?”
It was a terrible, but tempting idea. If she could present Hunter as her boyfriend her mother would finally leave her in peace. Unfortunately, then she’d have to go to the banquet as his fiancée. She grabbed a roll and began to butter it. “Forget it.”
“Brenna—?”
“It’s nothing. So what are you looking for in a woman?” She expected a prompt reply. He surprised her by leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes.
“Medium height, healthy build, light brown hair.” He opened one eye. “I like a little imperfection, limps are nice.”
She stared at him stunned then laughed. Her limp was something people tried to ignore, he made it part of her appeal. Her heart swelled.
“The banquet is in two weeks so we’ll—”
“I didn’t say I would go.”